


Eclipse Me

by Kitshunette, Zhadyra (Shizuka_Kuroko)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nicaise (Captive Prince) Lives, Sun and moon king au, This is for nicaise, eclipse - Freeform, it’s nothing worse than canon, you know Capri so...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitshunette/pseuds/Kitshunette, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shizuka_Kuroko/pseuds/Zhadyra
Summary: “Tell me the story about how the Sun loved the Moon so much he died every night to let her breathe.”Except Damen doesn’t love Laurent and would not die for him.This man killed his father, after all.OrDamianos, the sun king, hates Laurent because he killed his father. Laurent, the moon king, hates Damianos because he killed his brother. But when the eclipse, a ball, a dance beyond the realms of day and night, comes up and they meet they soon will need to face truths they never thought possible and find themselves joining forces with each other to fight a plot that is bigger than their hate against each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Captive Prince Big Bang! I got to participate with a mini bang and art and this is the former. The wonderful kitshunette did the art work for this and I can only say it is strikingly beautiful. It will be embedded in the second chapter, but if you want to peek already, here it is: https://kitshunette.tumblr.com/post/180595055702/captive-prince-big-bang-2018-capri-bigbang2k18

Standing in the middle of the room, just close to the windows, Damen had been overlooking maps and plans for the next days. The sunlight is falling in rays through the window, painting patterns on the floor in front of it. It is still early, the sun not having reached its peak yet by a few hours. 

Preparations would need to be made. Looking around the room, he calls one of his attendants to him.

He lets his gaze wander over the wide open space in the middle of the room, the dome with the slightly green glass windows right in the centre of the ceiling, the bookshelves, the big old globe that is standing in the corner, the dark wood that the shelves and the door are made of, the lighter wood of the floor, until the boy starts to move.

The entire atmosphere is golden and looking at the dust that is floating in the air, illuminated by the rays of the sun, Damen suddenly wishes he was alone in the library.

His eyes follow the boy with a heavy gaze when he crosses the room from where he had stood at the door.

"Bring my brother a message. I need him to be prepared for our arrival. I will travel to the border where dawn turns to day and we will meet there. I want to speak about the eclipse," he instructs, turning away as soon as he finishes talking. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the attendant bowing and leaving.

A gesture of his hand brings another forth quickly.

"I will need to travel. Prepare for a journey to the border of dawn just where my rule begins. Send another herald to inform the staff at Delpha, to inform the Kyros of the first hour, Nikandros, to prepare for our arrival."   
  
This time, when he turns away, Damen turns to look out of the window, opening it and stepping through the big glass doors onto the balcony.    
  
The sun, Damen himself, is blazing, tinting everything that he can see in light.    
Everything light, everything golden is under his rule, divided into ten hours, ten districts, ten kyroi to rule. 

On one side of his kingdom, of the sun kingdom lies the thin stretch of dawn, the kingdom of the rising sun, subjected to the rule of his illegitimate older half-brother, Kastor, who Damen had looked up to and adored as a child and who he still shares a good bond with. 

The kingdom of the rising sun and the kingdom of the high sun are united under the alliance of day, which their father, Theomedes, looks over. 

Had been looking over.   
  
On the other side lays the strip of land that is the kingdom of dusk, the kingdom of the setting sun, which Damen knows close to nothing about except that it had been ruled by Laurent, Prince of Night who backed down from this duty not long ago.

And beyond both of them, beyond dusk and dawn, there is the kingdom of the high moon. 

It is subjected to the rule of the moon king, the moon king that was Auguste, a treasured friend, but after his death, another death that Damen cannot think about, the echelon was taken over by Laurent, his younger brother, Laurent, who had ruled dusk, who is new to his position, his power not yet in full capacity.

The kingdom of the setting sun -or the kingdom of the rising moon, as its inhabitants call it- and the kingdom of the high moon on their part are united through the alliance of night, formerly under the rule of Auguste’s and Laurent’s mother, Hennike, but now after her death, under the rule of the Regent, Laurent's uncle, who still is able to overrule the latter, together with the Milky Way, the Council, because Laurent is not old enough yet, even though he will be soon.

Laurent, the man who killed Damen’s father.    
  
Damen still remembers it vividly, as it has not been long ago, the wound still fresh.    
The whole kingdom is in mourning still, the sun glowing dimmer than ever before, but still, despite everything, blazing.

It is a cool day, chilly, mist even hanging in the air. It’s unusual weather for the sun kingdom. The heat that the sun emits usually spreads, being source for every and all life within its stretch.

It is an unusual day for the sun kingdom.

Not only because of the weather, no, rather because of the delegation, the group of people who stands in the main hall of the sun palace. 

Damen, proud, strong Damianos, standing next to his father, to his right, just a step behind him.

They are facing the group unescorted, three men standing there, solitary on the dais, regal, royal, proud. 

The lighter skin tone, the lighter hair, the lighter eyes, everything about their appearance, marks the group standing in front of them as children of the night, sent to them, sent to the realms of the sun, by their king, the king of the night, a king that isn’t with them, can’t be with them. 

There is no sound to be heard, no movement apparent for the moment, this one, single moment, Veretians, children of the night, staring into the eyes of Akielons, children of the day. 

Position, rank, power -it doesn’t matter. 

The air is stale, a tension taking over, the moment seems frozen like time is holding its breath. 

The faint rustling of clothes can be heard breaking the moment, the delegation, lower in rank, bowing deeply before royalty.

They came to negotiate about the peace treaty that has been established between the two kingdoms, came to talk politics, had come bearing no harm.

On the other side of Theomedes stands Kastor, on the left, slightly behind the emperor and the king. 

Cementing his rule over dawn under the alliance of day at the side of his father, his gaze looking up, high, proud. 

The next thing Damen remembers clearly, the only thing that matters was frozen into his head, burnt and left a mark, filled with cold ice, ice that only makes the picture more vivid, more colourful, more real.

The banquet that is being held in honour of the delegation, in honour of the negotiations, a banquet held in the honour of Vere. 

The walls are hung in red and blue, clashing yet still matching, a dance with each other, deadly yet fascinating to watch.

The wine turns bitter, the meat disintegrating into ashes in Damen's mouth. 

A sole fly flies around  _bsst, bsst, bsst_ ,  it sounds,  _bsst, bsst, bsst_ ,  it mocks.

The chatter in the hall doesn’t stop, doesn’t subside yet when no one notices what is happening.

There is a panicked look in the brown eyes of his father, a hold of breath, his father sets his glass down, the red liquid sloshing over the rim of the glass, the fine, pristine, beautiful glass with the golden ornamented rim, the expensive glass, that is only used for the festive occasion, used for something special.

His hands come up to his throat, squeezing, pulling, hitting, putting pressure on it then loosening it again, clawing,  _clawing_ at his neck, his father's breath stuttering, his throat closing up, not getting any air, not getting any oxygen, necessary to survive. 

There is an uproar in the hall now, people noticing the scratches, the desperate writhing of their emperor. 

He is dying.

Theomedes of Akielos, emperor of The Day, is dying.

His hands grab the table, his upper body bending over forward, his eyes bulging, searching until they find Damen's, holding his gaze, when tears form, when the white slowly turns red, when he gasps for breath, not finding any air, when his head, his body falls down, loose, like all the threads that held him up are being cut down, only leaving a dead puppet. 

It hits his plate, his ear falling into the meat, his nose dipping slightly into the mashed potatoes, gravy splattering everywhere, little droplets that will leave stains on the beautiful, cream tablecloth, soaking it but not reaching the tabletop yet. 

There is no life left in the man, in his father, and nothing will change that, not even Damianos of Akielos, King of the sun, son of Theomedes. Not even Damen, rushing to his fathers side, feeling like five again, taking his head into his hand, not caring about the food, about all the grime sticking to his hands, begging silently, muttering the words under his breath that this is only a bad dream, because this can’t be true, this can’t be right, the tablecloth is still spotless, the glass still pristinely clean, no wine spilt, his father not dead, because that is how it is supposed to be.

But the dead, grey, fishy eyes that were so brown mere moments before, filled with glee, look back at him, no  don’t  look back at him, look through him, tinted red and lock on to something Damen cannot see.

It is Kastor that pulls him away from his father's dead body, tears falling down onto Damen's bare shoulder when his brother buries his face into the crook of his neck, hugging him close from behind, to find closeness, to hold Damen back, to hold him in check.

It wouldn’t work would Damen not be in shock, his powers not coming to him, his mind completely blank, unthinking.There is nothing except for the overwhelming grief washing over him in waves, swallowing him whole, pulling him under, pulling him so deep that he can’t breathe anymore either, just like his father.

Kastor brings him to his chambers, Kastor orders the Veretian delegation to return back, Kastor investigates what happened.

Poison.

Damen wants to laugh because of how typical it is, how ironic. The way they killed his father.

Kastor is the one who brings him the news,  _poison_ , he says,  _it was poison._

It was in the wine, the Veretian wine, poured by the delegation, the glass given to Kastor by a child of the night, Kastor handing it to their father. 

It must have been almost too easy for them.

Damen does not give himself much time to grieve. He takes one day, only one, to spend in bed, to not move, to wallow in his grief. 

The next day they bury him, lay him down as tradition dictates.

The following weeks are stressful, no one knows what to do, no one knows how to proceed, without an emperor, without certainty. 

Kastor and Damen clash more often than Damen expected, hoped, words, sharp as blades flying between them, hitting their targets effortlessly. 

It isn’t all bad, they get along despite everything, despite all the tension that hangs in the air, despite all the stress weighing down on them. 

It isn’t pretty, but they work out a way to get along, to work together, to rule and to take the place, fill the gap their fathers passing had left. 

They don’t know what to do, who can replace him and they don’t want to think about it just yet. And it works for now.

There are other, more prominent, more pressing, more immediate things to worry about.

The eclipse. 

A ball, a dance, beyond day and night, beyond dawn and dusk. It takes place in between kingdoms, between night and day, neither at dusk nor dawn, at a place that is called Marlas inhabited by only one man, Pascal. 

He takes care of the palace, takes care of everything until the next eclipse raises, until it is time again for the sun and the moon to meet in a playful dance and to spend an evening together, blazingly beautiful, their light embracing everything. 

So Damen rides to meet with his brother.

Kastor is not there to greet him when he arrives at Delpha, but Nikandros is.

Standing in front of the impressive castle -not as impressive as the sun palace, but beautiful nevertheless- he looks regal, like a kyros should, dressed in his white toga. 

The only colour on his body is the red seam, as close to the crimson that Damen, that the King wears as it is appropriate. 

Damen dismounts from his horse, steps down to the ground on his feet and turns, facing Nikandros. 

He hands the reigns of his horse over to a squire blindly, then takes a step away, one step, and then another. 

Nikandros is already walking down the steps, the stairs that lead to the entrance, the terrace that he had waited on. 

It doesn’t befit a man of lower rank to greet the king standing elated, no matter how long or well they know each other. 

They arrive at the bottom of the stairs at the same time, Nikandros bowing before Damen, falling to his knees. 

It is only moments that he executes the procedure, only moments that he is under obligation to kneel, only moments before he rises again, looking into Damen's eyes before embracing him, threading his arms around Damen's torso, nearly crushing him when he tightens his hold.

“It’s so good to see you. I’ll show you to your quarters, they are the same as usual so that you can retreat there and make yourself comfortable before Kastor arrives, too. I’ll hold lookout and will send for you when the time comes,” he says, with a smile on his face.

Damen inclines his head, a smile, too, spreading on his face. It’s good to see Nikandros. 

“Lead the way then, ” he says, letting his hand rest on the other man’s shoulder when they separate. 

They ascend the broad, white marble stairs together, falling into conversation naturally as they always do, the familiarity between them flaring up again.

Arriving at Damen’s chambers, they make their entrance and Nikandros takes a seat in one of the chairs while Damen starts to undress from his riding leathers. 

He tasks the servant in the room with them with bringing him a simple chiton, but one fine enough to be fitting to welcome his brother. 

When they are alone, their conversation fades, Damen preoccupied with undressing, Nikandros lost in thought.

Then, when the silence between them begins to stretch out: “There is something about Kastor that gives me an uneasy feeling. I don’t trust him or his intentions,” Nikandros says, his voice quiet, as if he is afraid to be overheard in his own fort. 

“There’s something going on in that dark mind of his, or rather in the mind of Jokaste,” he continues when Damen doesn’t immediately respond. 

The name makes him freeze, his hand hovering over the buckles on his legs. 

Then, deliberately, he moves his fingers, opens the buckle, takes off the last piece of riding leather, placing it down carefully on the chest next to him.

He doesn’t turn, can’t face Nikandros or the name that had slipped. 

Jokaste. His fiancé, his future queen, the woman that he had cherished more than everything, had wanted to give the world to. Jokaste, the woman who chose Kastor over him, when they had already been nearly married, the woman who had left him, left him for Kastor when she had had Damen at her feet. 

“Kastor is not like that. He would never betray me or the alliance”, Damen says, with a certainty in his voice he isn’t sure he possesses. 

He turns back to his friend, looking him in the eyes with a sharp expression and only turns away when there is a knock on the door, the servant entering on a sign. 

Damen takes the chiton from the waiting arms of the boy, dressing himself with a deliberate slowness. 

“We will not speak about this again, Nikandros. Now, let us go outside again, to wait for my brother.”, he says, commands in a voice full of authority that leaves no room for arguments. 

Kastor does not arrive immediately. He does not arrive as soon as Nikandros and Damen set foot onto the terrace. 

They make their way over to the side, walking down a few steps. The terrace is extended, broad in the front of the palace, broad in the back. 

A table is set with refreshments, wine and light dishes and they sit down, taking up their earlier conversation as if the moment in between, the ice that flooded Damen's veins, hadn’t happened. 

They wait and they talk until it is later in the afternoon and Kastor arrives. 

He brings his household with him, but its size is smaller than expected, smaller than the last time Damen saw it. 

“Jokaste stayed behind. I didn’t want to expose her to the stress of travelling when the pregnancy is this far on. Part of our household is taking care of her. I hope you don’t mind,” Kastor says and kisses Damen’s cheek, then motions for Nikandros, fallen into the mandatory bow, to stand. 

They do not embrace, but Nikandros motions for them to follow when he strides through the entrance hall, further into the palace. 

Kastor is given time to rest and then they will talk, make plans for the eclipse.

A week later, when everything is discussed, preparations have been made, messengers having been sent back and forth between Day and Night, Damen finds himself in front of his father’s grave in the crypt.

A single ray of sun shines through the ceiling, illuminating the golden crown on Theomedes’ head, letting it shine brightly. 

It is tradition to erect the graves in a way that the sun, falling through a hole in the ceiling, illuminates the crown of each ruler, one after the other, in the order of their accession. Someday Damen, too, will lay down here, his crown shining when the light on his father’s crown dims. 

It is an intricate piece of art, something the best architects designed a long, long time ago.

“I will not let what they did to you go just like that. I will punish them and hold them accountable for what they have done. But I can’t yet. This eclipse needs to be peaceful because we are not ready for war, father. We simply can’t afford it again. We need a truce and be it for only this one night. I apologise that I cannot give you justice yet, but I promise you that I haven’t forgotten,” he says, a declaration to his father’s face, proud but in a subdued voice. He did wish for privacy, but the architecture of the crypt carries sound, so he needs to talk softer.

He kneels, pressing his face to the stone of the grave and says his prayers, paying his father his respects. 

When he stands, he is a stronger man, and his stride is determined, filled with purpose. 

He says his goodbye and the long travel to Marlas begins. 

The journey is uneventful and after two days they arrive at the palace, at Marlas. 

It is an impressive palace, a fort nobody could take over, not in their wildest dreams. 

It is heavily guarded because it is neutral territory, not belonging to anyone.

Neutral ground, perfect for the eclipse, perfect for the sun and the moon to meet, perfect that all of the tension that will without doubt exist will be less likely to snap. 

Damen and all of the people that have travelled with him, nearly his entire household, are shown to their rooms, given space and time to recuperate from the journey. 

Without having any immediate duties to attend to Damen finds himself on the battlements, on top of the wall, looking out into the lands. 

His toga, something formal he is obligated to wear -well not obligated, but it is the polite thing to do- for when Laurent arrives.

Immediately a frown falls over his face, his eyebrows knitting themselves together.

He doesn’t want to think about Laurent, doesn’t want to think about the fact that he will have to meet with him, that he will have to dance with him out of all people, that they will have to make conversation and that he will have to come to an agreement with him, a treaty for peace, because Akielos cannot stand to go to war again.

But he doesn't need to, doesn’t need to think about what will happen when Laurent arrives, doesn't need to think about all the possibilities, because in this moment he sees the carriages, the riders, one of them splitting away from the group, falling into a gallop, so he will be at the fort first, earlier than the others, to give information of their arrival.

Damen turns, sending one last glance the way of the midnight blue chariots slowly approaching. 

He makes his way down the battlements, descends down the stairs, leaves the blue sky behind him and enters the castle again. 

He does not retreat to his room. 

Instead he goes downstairs, further down, to be there, to meet Laurent when he arrives. 

He is not ready, he knows, but there is no time when he will be better prepared. 

His knees are unsteady, because even if he knows, rationally, that Laurent is not a direct thread to him right now, because he wouldn’t dare attack him on neutral, on sacred ground, and because, to be honest, Damen has seen that man, that boy and he is no match for him, he can’t help but be scared. 

It’s not about dying or being attacked, he realises. It’s not that he is directly afraid of Laurent.

It’s the same as it is with his brother.

It’s the same fear that he feels now, the same fear as when he is confronted with his brother. It hurts, it hurts badly seeing him because somehow his image is tied to the death of their father, the still fresh wound, and to Jokaste leaving him.

With Laurent, it’s the same but different, and at that moment when the single rider passes through the broad gate of the walls, Damen only wants to turn and run. 

Run away from his spot on the top of the stairs that lead up to the entrance hall, run away from his responsibilities as king, wants to run away from Laurent and his midnight blue carriages that he can see approaching through the still open gate.

But he stands.

Damen stands and waits for Pascal to stand to his right, for Kastor and Nikandros to stand on his left. Pascal takes a step to the front of the stairs, his toes touching the end of the top step. 

For a moment, a short ridiculous, absurd little moment, Damen thinks he’s going to fall, to tumble down the stairs and everyone will think he pushed him, but he knows it isn’t going to happen and it doesn’t.

The wagons, the riders, the entire party passes the gate. 

Pascal starts descending down the stairs.

The doors of one of the carriages open.

A man, a soldier stands next to it. He holds out his hand.

Laurent, beautiful Laurent steps out of the carriage, with his long, blond hair, with his sharp, blue eyes, with the small circlet sitting on his head. The sun aligns with him, casting rays of light that surround him like a halo, giving his dark and light blue clothing a shimmer of orange and letting his hair burn.

Kastor follows behind Pascal and Damen misses a step, waits a beat too long.

He is only pulled out of his stupor by a hand squeezing his, then letting go again.

He looks to his left and meets the already waiting eyes of Nikandros. Courage floods him and he remembers that he is not alone, does not have to face Laurent alone right now.

His feet start moving and he follows his brother down the stairs, coming to a halt next to him and after a beat of silence feels Nikandros presence settle next to them, too.

There is no more fear in the way he holds himself and he does not want to run anymore, when Laurent steps in front of Pascal and greets him, then, after the exchange of few words moves to greet Damen.

They stare into each other’s eyes, and neither of them backs down nor looks away when their hands meet each other’s lower arm just before the elbow. 

There’s a tension building in the air around them, but Damen simply cannot notice it. 

He simply looks into the cold eyes of the moon king and thinks  _ this is him. This is the man who killed my father. _

And the worst thing is that he really, wholeheartedly can believe it. Damen looks into his eyes, these cold, bright blue eyes, and he can’t help but think that no matter how much he had doubted it before, this person really is the one that killed his father.

Because no matter how long Damen stares and searches these blue eyes, he cannot find anything but ice cold burning hate. 

Laurent is seething.

And Damen would have never known if not for the way his eyes had leveled him and the way his hand is gripping his underarm just a little bit too tight.

“Your Majesty,” he says and inclines his head just the appropriate amount.

His greeting is given back in the same manner, short, proper and with just the necessary inclination of the head.

It’s obvious they can’t stand each other.

But Laurent's voice is like music in Damen's ears, no matter how cold the tone he speaks in had been and he can’t help but turn his head to follow him with his gaze when he greets Kastor, king of the rising sun, and Nikandros, kyroi of the first hour,  _ cumulus castelani _ , who Damen had chosen to accompany him to the eclipse.

Damen turns his gaze away just in time for him to extend his hand to the man that was standing in front of him.

His gaze is austere, but in his eyes, in his blue eyes, there is none of the hate that had been in Laurent's. His beard is trimmed and already starting to grey in patches. 

Without any doubt, this is the Regent, Laurent's uncle, and Damen felt more at ease immediately.

Their arms meet and the other man's grip is tight and true. They look into each other’s eyes and inclined their heads. 

“Your Highness,” Damen says.

“Your Majesty,” the Regent says.

They are the same, somewhat, Damen thinks. With this man he can sympathise. He doesn’t seem vicious or hateful and spiteful like Laurent.

The Regent moves on and another man, no a child, takes his place. 

The boy looks like he’s twelve at most. 

But the emblem on his cloak, just over his heart, marks him as the king of the setting sun, the king of the rising moon, the king of dusk. 

Damen tries his best not to stare and extends his hand. The boy takes it, they say their greetings, but when the boy retreats his hand his fingernails scratch over the back of Damen's hand.

“Oh no. How clumsy of me!” he says. “I’m incredibly sorry.”

Damen would have bought it, would it not have been for the mocking tone in the boy’s voice and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

Damen breathes.

He can’t make a scene, can’t call the boy out for his behaviour.

“Excuse Nicaise. He is a bit misbehaved sometimes, just like my nephew, I fear,” comes the smooth voice of the Regent from their left. 

Damen nods.

“It’s fine. My hand was not harmed badly. It’s not even bleeding,” he answers, trying hard to stay diplomatic. And somehow it isn’t all too difficult with the Regent’s presence next to them. It makes the deed look like a child’s stupid rebellious act, not a deep offence.

“I’m glad,” the Regent says, and they continue walking, the older man laying an arm around Nicaise shoulders.

The last man that he greets is open with his hostility. His face betrays him, drawn eyebrows, his mouth tight. 

Damen decides he likes him, even if the man does not like him. But he’s honest, open and Damen can appreciate this, at least.

When they are done shaking hands, Pascal leads them all into the palace. In the main hall they split up, the Veretians going after Pascal, to be brought to their rooms, the Akielos stay behind. 

Before he turns, Damen sees the way the others split into two groups naturally. On one side the Regent, his hand still on the boys shoulder, hugging him to his side, on the other Laurent and the fourth man. 

It must be one of the Gouverneurs, Damen thinks, the second man that Laurent brought, just like Damen brought Nikandros as his. It’s an old tradition, bringing a second man and Damen used to think of it as stupid, but after what happened to Auguste, he’s not so sure anymore.

They turn, leave without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

Later Damen changes clothing again. The toga he had been wearing for the day is discarded, exchanged for another one. The new one is red, crimson, with a golden stripe and his undergarments -because he needs undergarments at this temperature- are yellow, nearly golden. 

An attendant brings his crown, made out of golden laurels and he needs to bend for her to set it down into his head.

The walk down the stairs feels surreal. It feels like Damen isn’t really present. He’s just a ghost moving his body, taking a step, then another and another one until he has reached the hall. He is going to dance with Laurent.

It is tradition that the moon king enters first. The day, the entire circle begins with night. 

The moon king, Laurent, will be followed by the king of dawn, Kastor, after him it’s Damen’s turn and the last one to finish the cycle is the king of dusk, Nicaise.

When a herald calls out his name to the room, he starts walking. He is followed by a golden gleam, a light emitted by his skin that falls onto everything in his path, making his appearance in the doorway otherworldly.

His sun-kissed skin shines and he walks and walks, holding his toga over his arm, looking up into the room.

It’s a beautiful room.

It has a high ceiling with ornaments everywhere. Here’s some fresco art and there some astonishing painting. It’s hard not to let his gaze wander upwards, wander up up up until he can only see the beauty of it.

He can’t see it, but he knows that there is one spot, in the middle of the room where there is not only a different type of stone embedded into the floor, forming patterns, but also a big circular window in the ceiling, giving free sight of the bright blue sky outside where the sun will meet the moon when Damen and Laurent dance underneath.

He walks into the middle of the hall and stops just short of the circle’s centre, on the spot that shows the sun. 

He makes eye contact with him while he walks. He looks into those brazenly blue eyes, framed by light lashes and it creeps him out that this man does not seem to blink once. His face seems set, carefully arranged like a mask but these eyes seem like the key to all of the secrets under the bright blond hair that nearly shines silver in the light. 

There is a shine about him, too, complementary to Damen’s own, subtler but just as beautiful. The silver highlights his eyes, his lashes, his hair, everything about him and it gives him a celestial beauty that makes him even more stunning than he already was. 

Damen feels like he is seeing this man for the first time again and yet he knows this is not true, is reminded by the unwavering, unblinking  _ stare  _ that he is met with.

Laurent is standing on his destined place, just of the circle’s centre on the spot that shows the moon. He’s holding himself proud and strong with a tension in the set of his shoulders.

Damen stands before him and looks down, continues to meet his gaze.

The horn sounds for the fourth time, the last time, and out of the fourth hallway steps the king of dusk, the child with the deep blue eyes.

Damen looks up shortly and takes in the boy’s appearance. His curly, brown hair is decorated with pearls and silver. His robes are in blue and silver, too, the colours of the Night. It is also what Laurent and the Regent are wearing. 

There is an earring, twin sapphires dangling down in a silver framing.

Damen takes all of this in with a single glance then looks back at Laurent because he can't keep his eyes off of him.

_ If he wouldn't have killed my father _ , Damen thinks,  _ I would court him. _

He surprises himself with the thought.

He’s beautiful, of course, but you can tell by a single look that there is a vicious mind behind these eyes. 

There is a speech, held by Paschal while the gleams of orange, the strange mix of Silver and Gold, move to the outer ring of the circle, coming to a halt on the positions between them, just so that Damen can see them in his peripheral vision. 

He knows how this ceremony works. He has already been part of it several times. But for Laurent this is the first dance, his first eclipse that he actively takes part in. 

He had never needed to dance, only needed to stand at the outer line of the circle as the king of dusk, never as the moon king. That had always been Auguste.

Damen missed him. 

With several meetings here and there and eclipses with dance and celebrations they had gotten to know each other quite well, had become friends. 

Damen knows Laurent, knows the little boy that looked at him with whole universes in his eyes and asked questions over questions. 

Damen doesn’t know Laurent who stands in front of him, eyes cold and distant and remaining silent. 

It seems so long ago since the last eclipse had taken place, since he last saw Auguste, his treasured friend, since he last saw Laurent.

Paschal’s words fade away and music starts to play. 

It’s old, ancient and it has been played for this ritual since the first kings took part in it. 

Damen listens to the soft sounds and readies himself.

The moment before they touch is filled with a tension that feels like it would snap any second. They look into each other's eyes and Laurent blinks, he blinks and his gaze flickers to the hand Damen is extending, to his hand, stretched out just above it.

Damen waits, patiently, seconds stretching like hours. This part has always felt long, but it does so especially with Laurent. 

When their hands touch it feels like there is electricity flying between them. 

The golden light that Damen emits starts mixing with the silver shine, starts taking it over, transforming it into a bronzen tone. He knows this procedure, knows that they are now only seconds apart from closing their hold, bodies pressing together in tension, knows that it is only mere seconds before the actual eclipse, the actual dance starts. 

Laurent's hand lies in his, his fingers slender and soft. The touch is only light, but Damen doesn’t need much compelling, doesn’t need much force to pull him into the proper position. 

He pulls his body up like on a string, pushes out his chest, leans slightly back, his hand now on the lower end of Laurent's shoulder blade and to turn his head to the left, breaks eye contact. 

His position is perfect and Laurent has no trouble following him, his hand lying just beneath his shoulder, arm filled with tension, the good kind, up on his toes, leaning back, chest pushed out, head turned to the left. 

Damen still feels blue eyes on his face.

Their clasped hands lead the way when Damen takes the first step forward and they start dancing.

The light that had just been coming through the window above their heads starts to change. It’s barely noticeable, but Damen feels it, feels it in the way that Laurent, the moon throws his shade over him.

“If you move your hand even just one inch lower your testicles will not live to see the end of this day,” Damen hears Laurent whisper in his ear. 

Immediately the tension changes, from simple electricity to something malicious, hateful. 

No beating around the bush then, no talking prettily, no making excuses. 

“I don’t intend to touch you any more than I have to, but thank you for the warning,” Damen answers, his voice void of emotion. It is all he can bring himself to be. Void of emotion. Cold as the ice that burned his soul.

“Oh so now you are acting like I’m the literal devil while this role just so clearly befits you best,” comes the dry response. 

Damen raises an eyebrow. They take several steps.

The literal devil? What is this boy even allowing himself? How dare he? Doesn’t he know that there is an alliance at stake? This is not the right place for making enemies out of each other and blame. Especially unrightful blame.

Damen has never in his life done anything wrong if he was to think about it. Or no, he has done plenty of things wrong, but he definitely hasn’t done anything to offend the moon king or Laurent as a person. That he would know. Right?

They take a few more steps.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, he says, simply, because he doesn't know what else to say.

“Oh don’t you? Well, I just certainly hope I won't die dancing in your arms too. It would be a shame. You don’t find a pretty face like mine often.”

His tone of voice is just as arrogant and as annoying as Damen thought it would be. 

He isn't a man who wants to judge based on prejudice and he isn’t a man who judges someone else just because they probably killed his father. But there is no probably anymore. It’s erased in his head. 

He’s ignoring all the possibilities because now Damen is angry.

How dare this little boy? He doesn’t know what he is speaking of. He doesn’t know the slightest thing about Auguste. Or Damen wishes it was like that. 

But he does know, he does know Auguste, was there when he died, was killed and Damen can’t help but think that that should only be more reason that Laurent understands him but he just doesn’t.

Laurent doesn't understand him and somehow this seems wrong.

“I am as much in mourning over Auguste's death as you are but-”, he starts but is cut off.

“Don’t,” Laurent hisses “Don’t say his name. You don’t have the right. Not after what you’ve done.”

Damen can feel the tension build up and up more and more in Laurent's shoulders. 

His hand curls loosely. 

If he had thought Laurent had been tense at the beginning of their dance this would change his mind.

They take a few more steps.

“What I’ve done to him?”, Damen barely suppresses a growl. What was that supposed to mean?

“Oh, now you don’t remember suddenly? How typical of you barbarians. There is just simply nothing in your heads.”, he sighs. His grip on Damen’s arm neither loosens nor tightens. 

They have made the first quarter of the circle. 

The music is loud in Damen’s ears and for a moment it is at it's maximum, playing louder and louder and louder and it feels as if Damen's ears are turning inside out. 

Laurent's lips move.

The music continues playing, continues making beautiful melodies, but Damen doesn’t hear a single tone. 

And Laurent continues to dance, leads himself into a twirl when Damen stops dead. 

No. 

“No,” he says, with a calm he doesn’t possess. 

There is just quiet in him. Nothingness. His life, time, has stopped and nothing matters anymore. It’s absolutely silent and Damen can’t think. 

Because this idea is so revolting.

Laurent leads himself into another figure, tossing his head back and leaning into Damen's arms until he is forced to hold him. 

He is breaking all the rules of dancing.

“I did not kill your brother. I loved that man. I would never have killed him,” he says, whispers into Laurent’s ear, when he stands with his back towards his chest.

He turns around and the face each other in the traditional hold. 

Bright blue eyes view into his face, pouring ice into his veins.

“Oh, and I guess you have a story to back up your pathetic claim too.” 

Damen does have a story. But it’s not just a story, it's a memory, the truth.

The last time there had been an eclipse Laurent hadn’t been the moon king yet. 

He had been the king of dusk, looking up to his big brother, always tugging at his sleeve.

Auguste, the moon king, son of Hennike, ruler of the Night, had died that night, together with her. 

No. He didn’t die. He was killed. 

It wasn’t Damen, had never been him. 

They had been dancing. Performing the sacred ritual, the moon crossing the sun, covering its entire size and leaving only a slight circle of bent rays of sunlight. 

The moon had moved the half of the way already when it had started. 

There was a commotion, everyone was excited. It hadn’t been the first eclipse Auguste and Damen had shared, but their balls were known for being extraordinary. 

There had been a crowd, other people dancing, outside the circle, outside from under the window, and in the mass of people something had happened that Damen would never forget.

The wheeze of Air that left Auguste's lungs. 

The exact perfect way the knife, the Akielon knife was angled just so that it hit his heart.

The exact calculation that somebody must have given this plan, the amount of thought.

Damen thought a lot in this moment and nothing at all.

He didn’t rip out the knife, didn't continue dancing, didn’t react at all.

They simply stood in the middle of the dance floor and looked at each other.

Damen saw the exact moment the life drained out of the other man’s eyes. He watched him, felt him go limp in his arms, his eyes loosing their deep blue shine, the aura, the beautiful silver gleam around him fading away.

His features, now fully revealed on his lolled back head slackened.

Damen could tell that this hadn’t just been simply a death inflicted by a knife wound. The knife had hit his heart directly and there had been poison on it. Auguste, his beloved, dear friend Auguste wouldn't have died just like that otherwise.

The Empress, Auguste and Laurent’s mother had died on this day, too. 

Damen had only obtained this information later. It had been an accident. A defect chariot. A too steep road. An unattentive driver.

It had been a dark day for the Night and Damen, too, had been in mourning. 

He never ended up knowing who had killed his friend. Akielons and Veretians alike had returned to their countries as soon as it was possible and just days after the relationship had started to worsen. 

Laurent had stepped into his brother’s footsteps and the Regent had taken over for Hennike as Emperor of the Night. 

“I did not kill your brother even if it might have looked like it. I’m not on the same low level as you. You killed my father and still, I would never even go near you with my sword as much as I’d like to. It’s a question of honour. And I loved Auguste. There is no reason for me to have killed him.”, Damen says, hisses into Laurent’s ear.

They take a few steps and Damen twirls Laurent again, then dips him low. 

“You have nothing to accuse me of.”

There is a confused look on Laurent’s face, hanging so close to the floor. 

It is just a moment, flies by as if it wasn’t even there and for a moment Damen isn’t sure if it really was.

The crack in Laurent's invisible mask is something Damen can feel, echoing into the deepest parts of his being.

“What did you just say?”, he asks when he is upright again.

“That I loved Auguste and that you have nothing to accuse me of?”

Laurent rolls his blue eyes. 

“Of course not, you idiot,” his gaze is searching for something in Damen’s eyes. 

“You said that I killed your father.”

Damen turns the other man so that Laurent’s back faces him. 

“I did,” he answers, voice cold.

“Your delegation brought poisoned wine. He died in front of my eyes. Does that make you happy? Do you feel satisfied?”

He feels the tension, rather than sees it this time when he leads Laurent back to facing him again. It feels like every word he said is a dagger in Laurent's immaculate armour. 

“I did not kill your father. Why would I do that?”, his eyebrows furrow when he pulls them down. Something seems not to be adding up in his mind and that makes Damen even more confused. His eyes are genuine. It disturbs Damen.

“They used poison. Who else would do this and gain something?”, he asks, voice far calmer than he actually is. 

He stands on the spot, leading Laurent around him. He needs to duck his head because of his size.

Laurent, facing him again, scoffs.

“A lot of people. Literally everyone. Don’t you know how easy it is to acquire poison if you have the right contacts? Didn’t you stop a single moment and tried using that big head of yours to think? Doing something like this with something so obvious Veretian would not be very smart and not be very Veretian at all. We would do things more…..”, he holds his breath. 

“More what?”, Damen asks, because he can’t not.

“Akielon,” Laurent says, defeated. His mind had come to a stop and so does Damen’s when he hears the words.

“It would make us less suspicious. You would look at your own people first,” he whispers. 

And Damen realises.

“You didn’t kill my father. I didn't kill your brother.”

“No.”

The pass Nicaise, having danced through half of the circle. 

“Someone else did. Someone else who knew that we would be too blinded by our grief to think clearly and that we would be more than okay to give the blame to somebody who we hated already anyways.”

“Yes,” Laurent breathes.

He leads himself into another twirl, his eyes seeking out something across the hall. 

Damen follows his gaze without attracting attention. 

Laurent is looking at the Veretians. Laurent is looking at the head of the table. 

Laurent is looking at his uncle, the Regent.

They face each other again and without words come to a silent understanding. 

“It’s a truce then,” Laurent says.

“There is no reason for you to hate me as there is no reason for me to hate you.”

They finish the dance, come to a halt in the middle of the circle again, rounding each other with their hands entwined.

Damen looks into Laurent’s eyes.

It could take a while but he thinks that their chances for a positive relationship aren’t so bad.

They bow before each other.

It will take some getting used to that everything that he hated, that the subject of all his hatred of everything he felt after his father's death was not actually the right one.

Maybe he has to find the real murderer before he can really let all of his negative feelings towards Laurent go.

Damen lifts Laurent's hand up to his mouth and touches the back of it with his lips how it is common courtesy. 

They separate, but walk together, next to each other to their respective thrones. 

The shine around them hasn’t faded, but the light has. The sky is bright and light again as if nothing had happened no matter how dark it had been just mere moments ago. 

Damen and Laurent turn and sit down on twin thrones.

The festivities are not all that interesting.

Damen already knows them, is used to them.

He was never bored at the eclipse, always had Auguste with him and he is pleasantly surprised to find himself not bored now either. 

Sitting so close next to each other with a calculated distance between them and everyone else it is only logical for them to talk with each other. 

And they do. 

To Damen's utmost surprise they do talk with each other. 

Laurent's strikes on a light conversation, having small talk that almost seems out of place after everything they have talked about before. 

The food is not yet served, but there are refreshment prepared. 

Damen's cup is filled with a light wine, Laurent’s with water.

Damen makes a reading remark about it and slowly, hesitantly their conversation slips into something closer, something more familiar, something they can have without holding grudges.

Damen is still confused, still feels the hatred against the man next to him for killing his father even tho he now knows that this isn’t the truth. But feelings don’t subside that fast.

But it's comforting to think that it must be the same for Laurent too.

The dance floor now is full of people, Kastor dancing with Nicaise only to be replaced by the Regent after only a single dance. 

There is time until the food is served. 

Damen and Laurent talk and slowly, really slowly they start to warm up to each other.

“Psst,” comes a whisper from behind their thrones. 

Damen looks at Laurent, confused for a second before he turns to look at whoever it is that is interrupting their talk.

“I overheard you shitheads talking earlier while you were dancing,” Nicaise says.

“You must be really dumb talking about this where everyone could see and hear you,” he says, turning his face to inspect his fingernails. They’re dark blue, sparkling like a thousand diamonds.

“What do you want Nicaise? Did you just come here to tell us how stupid we are?” Laurent asks. His posture doesn’t change, he still sits reclined in his chair, one leg thrown over the other, his wrist resting delicately on the armrest. But his tone of voice does change. It’s slight but from only the mere moments alone Damen has spoken to Laurent he can already hear it. It’s something familiar. 

Laurent likes the boy.

He is fond of him.

“No. Because other than certain other people and yes I’m talking about you I only do things that actually make sense and are smart. I’m here to warn you,” he says and drops his hand. His blue fingernails lay against the matching fabric of his garments.

“So you consider putting yourself in danger smart?” Laurent chuckles slightly, raising one of his perfect eyebrows.

Nicaise scoffs.

“Of course not. But it’s necessary. They’re planning on killing you. Or well have you both kill each other. Or well have the brute kill you and then he dies from poisoning.”

“Poisoning?” Damen interjects “why poisoning?” 

Something is not adding up for him.

“Ugh. Yes poisoning you dumbass. This is what i have come here to tell you. Your wine at the banquet is going to be poisoned. It’s supposed to make you super angry so that you’ll freak out all barbarian like and go kill Laurent. It’s a poison you’ll taste. But once you taste it it’s already gonna be too late. It’s their stupid plan. I overheard them talking about it and I read the letters before he burned them. It’s how they plan to get rid of you two too,” he says, dismissively waving his hand. 

“I do have an antidote for the poison on me that I could be convinced to give you,” he adds, levelling Damen with a look from deep blue eyes. 

“Give it to me. I’ll protect you when all of this goes down. You will not be harmed, I promise,” Laurent says.

“I better live,” Nicaise says and hands a small vial filled with a clear liquid over. 

“You should drink this now or it won’t take effect in time,” he says over his shoulder when he turns away and only gives them a cheeky wave with his back turned.

Laurent chuckles, inspecting the vial.

“What?”, Damen asks.

“Nothing,” says Laurent and tossed him the vial. 

“Drink it. It’s real.”

“And what makes me trust you or this?”

“The fact that I know who killed my brother and your father and who is now trying to kill us both,” Laurent says, his lips pulled tightly together.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”, Damen flares up.

“Keep your voice low you idiot. I only now got confirmation for it. It would have been useless to tell you a simple suspicion,” he rolls his eyes.

“Especially since I know it would have upset you. I want you to try and not freak out about this. Please actually consider what I’m going to say to you now,” he says and actually waits until Damen has nodded to continue.

“This plan was developed to bring somebody to power. Kill everyone in their way until they are the highest ranking. Very Akielon per se. But the execution screams Veretian, don’t you think?” 

“Poison your father so obviously that everyone would think Veretians did it. Kill my brother so obviously in front of everyone's eyes that everyone would thing Akielons did it. “

“That I would think you did it. That you would think I did it.” 

“And then when we are already nearly on each other's throats they add one final blow. They put poison on your drink. And you will realise that you have been poisoned and who will you blame of course? Me. Who else is there? And I would be such a convenient target too.” 

“You would be enraged because I tried killing you now the exact same way I killed your father and you would attack me. Of course, you are more powerful than I am and would have killed me. Then you would have died yourself because of the poison. And that would be how fast they complete their plan.” 

And now think a little of who would benefit from us dying. Who is the next in line? Who would take over?” Laurent finishes. He looks at him through lowered lashes, his gaze ice cold but it seems more like he is holding himself inside this time, protecting himself and not attacking Damen.

“Your uncle,” says Damen “Kastor,” he whispers. 

There is no air left in his lungs after this realisation. His breath just leaves him, all at once and he can’t breathe in again, it feels as if he has forgotten how to.

_ There is something about Kastor that gives me an uneasy feeling. I don’t trust him or his intentions, _ he remembers Nikandros saying.

He does not want to believe it.

Kastor would never hurt him. Would he?

Damen isn’t sure.

Laurent looks at him, keeps looking at him and his gaze is steady and sure and cold. 

It grounds him. 

Damen doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He looks at the vial in his hand, opens it and smells it. 

It has no smell. It smells like nothing, like water.

There’s nothing that can shock him anymore tonight. He just doesn't care at this moment.

He downs it all in one fast gulp.

It’s done. If this was an intricate plan to get him to drink this, if this was poison or something harmful it is too late now. 

Damen downs the antidote and there is no going back now. He decided that he trusts Laurent. 

He decided that he trusts this blue-eyed, blond haired absolutely gorgeous snake and he doesn't know if it's the wine speaking or if he’s sober, but the image of this prince in front of him makes him feel drunk anyways.

Nicaise doesn't come back to them, to their thrones, but Damen doesn’t see him much in the rest of the hall either.

The atmosphere has changed around them, the bubble they were just wrapped in, the bubble that had felt so good and comforting now feels tense and too quiet.

They stopped talking. 

They stopped talking about irrelevant things to get to know each other, they stopped talking about their families, they stopped talking about everything.

“I have a plan if you are willing to listen. You will not stop me from executing it but I think it would be wiser to let you know about it,” Laurent says. His voice is crystal clear and it tears through the veil that surrounds them leaving nothing but sharp shards of quiet. 

Damen still hasn’t thought. He can’t bring himself to turn on his brain, can’t bring himself to form a judgement over this man and his brother,  _ his own brother _ , and it feels like his brain has simply stopped working and is hung up on the same thought, playing it over and over and over again.

He nods anyways. 

“I will have the poison that is in your cup in my uncle’s cup,” he says. And nothing else. 

This is his plan? Damen doesn’t understand. Or maybe he is too tired to. Or maybe he is too confused to. It’s been too long of an evening and he feels as if he can’t keep up. 

Damen has a sharp mind usually, but everything about this man just simply brings everything out of balance and he doesn’t know anymore what to think, what to expect because he cannot be right, can only guess wrong what Laurent is going to do next.

There is a smile on Laurent's face. It’s tight-lipped but genuine and it makes Damen wonder if he knows about everything that goes on in his head. 

“It’s fine if you don’t understand it. I just wanted you to know,” he says and the smile grows wider “Just know that this is not only about personal revenge. It is what is best. They are trying to kill us and they will not stop. Keep this in mind.”

With these words, he stands, closely followed by Damen.

“Dance with somebody. I will need a few moments to discuss this. Draw attention to yourself. That shouldn’t be all that hard for you, now should it?”, Laurent whispers to him and Damen just so sees the beginnings of a blush forming before he turns away.

He doesn’t know what Laurent means, but he walks down the stairs that lead up to the dais the royal table stands upon and looks around himself. 

His gaze falls upon Nikandros who he has neglected the entire evening already and he can feel a smile forming in his face. 

“Will you do me the honour of a dance with you?”, Damen asks, standing before him and smirking.

“Oh, how could I refuse,” Nikandros answers, and even though his voice is mainly teasing there is a fond but very exasperated undertone in it. 

He takes his hand and the make their way to the dance floor. 

It’s tradition, their private tradition that every eclipse Damen dances with Nikandros at least once. They grew up together, learned to fight together and it had seemed only natural that they also learned to dance with each other. 

They are a team now, knowing the other through and through and knowing exactly what the other wants to dance, without a single glance. They’re  _ good _ and Damen will not let this be taken away from him ever. 

They dance and they dance and it doesn't stay just one dance, it never does. As much as Nikandros pretends to hate it and be annoyed by it, he secretly loves their tradition, Damen knows it.

They laugh and talk, make light, familiar conversation and Damen doesn't bring up the poison or the antidote so that by the time everyone has taken their seats again and the banquet is served he has almost forgotten about it.

It’s only when he tastes his wine and it does not taste like wine that he is reminded of it. 

He knows the poison. 

It’s not the same that was used to kill his father, but Damen knows this poison.

There aren’t many Akielon drugs or poisons so it isn’t hard for Damen to know them all by heart. 

He remembers knowing the poison that had killed his father and it stands out to him now so clearly that he can’t fathom why he never thought about why he knew it. Veretians wouldn't have used Akielon poison to begin with.

He remembers Kastor handing the trinket to his father. 

It must have been so easy for him. And nobody had questioned it.

Damen shakes his head. Takes another sip from his poisoned wine.

He can taste it, knows that it is there but he doesn't feel anything. 

There are no sudden rapid heartbeats, no sweat breaking out. He doesn't feel overly cold or numb either. He can breathe normally.

It’s a good antidote. 

He shares a look with Laurent and at his questioning raised eyebrow, Damen nods shortly. Yes. There is poison.

They start eating and for the moment everything is quiet. 

It’s not silent, not dead if sound. It’s just so incredibly happy and peaceful for this single short moment that it almost seems as if everything in the room has quietened down.

The Regent takes a sip out of his trinket.

It’s only such a small thing that happens and it changes everything. 

At first, there is not much apparent and Damen wouldn't even have noticed it if Laurent hadn’t had warned him which made him watch the Regent.

It is simply a small movement of his thick brows, a slight furrowing, he draws them together.

Damen holds his breath.

The Regent looks up, turns the trinket in his hands round and round and his gaze falls into Kastor.

Kastor who is celebrating and laughing with friends by his side.

The Regent takes another sip as if to make sure, really sure and this is what seals Kastors fate. 

The Regent rises, abruptly gets up from his seat.

“I challenge you to a duel for the dishonour you have done towards me,” he says, declares loudly towards the room, towards Kastor specifically.

He is only looking around confused. His eyes are open and Damen nearly doesn’t want him to die. No. Damen doesn’t want him to die. He has to stop this. Now.

He almost has risen up from his throne, too, when he feels a hand on his leg. 

Subtle, but he knows that if he only moves one more centimetre there will be consequences. 

Damen lets himself fall back down again, leans back and lets his arms rest on the throne. 

His fingers grip the armrests tightly.

It all goes by in a blur after that. He doesn’t know what is happening. 

Kastor and the Regent are duelling. 

It would have been impossible for Kastor to not accept the duel. He doesn’t even know what he has done wrong.

Damen understands.

Damen now understands the perfidious plan that Laurent's brilliant but oh so cruel mind has come up with. And he is impressed and shocked at the same time.

_ This is what it means to play this game _ , he realises.  _ This is what it is like to want to live. _

Kastor is killed by the Regent.

Of course he is there was never another outcome to this fight.

The Regent rams his sword through his entire body, starting at his stomach and only pulling it upwards, up and up and up until he had reached Kastor’s heart. 

There is so much blood on the floor, so much blood on the stairs and on the circular mural in the middle of the hall. 

The moon that has started to rise is coloured red when Laurent begins his descent.

He walks down the stairs, shoes splashing in the blood that isn’t dried yet.

Everyone is shocked, everyone is quiet, still, not a single sound is made in awe and fear of what comes next.

When Laurent stands in front of his uncle the picture they paint is ridiculous. 

Laurent holds himself tall with a straight back, almost effortlessly elegant. His clothes are still fresh, pristinely white and blue and silver. It seems as if not even a single fold is lying wrong where Laurent is laced up tightly into his garments.

The Regent, on the other hand, looks grimy. He has blood and sweat in his hands, staining his entire appearance. It’s more sweat than the fighting could have produced. 

Damen wonders if the contrast between Nephew and Uncle was intended. 

Knowing Laurent, he can’t imagine that it wasn’t.

The Regent falls to his knees. He looks up desperately, mouth forming last words and then he is gone.

Damen feels a tug on his sleeve and turns. He still feels numb and all of this doesn't seem real to him except there is the excitement if a fight still in the air and it smells like iron, like blood and his brother is lying dead on the steps leading towards him.

Damen turns and looks into the face of Nicaise. 

His eyes seem far away and, for the first time, he actually seems as young as his body suggests he still is.

“Is he dead?” He whispers and his voice trembles slightly. 

Damen only nods, knowing that no matter what he could say now would only come out like Nicaise’s words if not worse.

Laurent turns around, his eyes finding Damen's. 

There are tears running down his cheeks and Damen can’t for his life decide whether they’re real or not. 

He looks broken but Damen doesn't know if breaking set him free or ruined him forever.

Laurent looks down at his uncle’s corpse one last time before ascending the stairs again.

He heads for Damen, stands still in front of him, hesitates. 

Then he stretches out his hand, slowly as if he was afraid Damen would reject it and puts it to Damen's cheek.

Only when Laurent's finger touch Damen's face he notices that it is wet, too, that he’s crying and sobbing like no king should be seen.

There is another set of hands on his shoulders and he rises on shaky legs to embrace Nikandros, to seek comfort in him.

Laurent turns to the rest of the court, everyone present.

“The celebrations are hereby ended. This has been a twin tragedy for both the Day and the Night. We stand united in front of you,” he says and with his words Damen lets Nikandros go, to step up next to Laurent and take his hand in his.

“We stand united in front of you to mourn these two gruesome deaths. We will investigate them and bring them to their justice. This is the end of the celebrations. Let’s all go home,” Damen finishes.

The people in the hall start clearing. 

The music has long since fallen silent and there is only heard the chatter of voices and the occasional sobbing of people, mourning their king’s or their emperor’s death. 

The red moonlight starts turning silver again and Laurent's tears stop flowing.

His hand slips out of Damen's and he practically falls down to his knees.

Damen only stand next to him and watches.

“He is dead,” Laurent says.

“He is dead,” he finds his whisper echoed by a beautiful young boy.

Nicaise walks towards him and they just sit next to each other for a little while. 

Laurent extends his arm and Nicaise practically falls into his side. 

They hold onto each other for dear life or at least that is what it looks like.

Damen still can’t believe this is real, is still captured inside the foggy haze that surrounds his entire brain and won't let him think. 

Nikandros is by his side again and Damen is grateful for it. Because as much as Damen has started trusting Laurent and as much as he starts to like him, this is not a moment they are able to share yet, this is a moment way to fragile for their still new relationship.

Damen buries his face into Nikandros neck and the other man pulls him close and hugs him so tightly that Damen thinks he might never breathe again. 

They are escorted back to their rooms only moments later. 

Damen cannot sleep that night. 

Nobody really can. 

He leaves the banquet, the eclipse, Marlas and Laurent with mixed feelings. 

They will see each other again. 

_ I might court him, _ Damen thinks,  _ even if he killed my brother. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this has been a ride. I can’t believe this is over and done. It just accompanied me for so long and while I did have times where I just wanted to suit and burn this story, I can only say that it has been so so worth it. Thank you a lot again to my wonderful artist kitshunette and my wonderful beta Elle. You guys did a fantastic job. 
> 
> There is the possibility to convince me to write an epilogue. I’m just saying.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! If you liked it, maybe think about leaving kudos or a comment!


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